[Simon listens to Chilton with a dry look of impatience, brow cocked. He's perfectly calm; the situation is back under control. Jorah is neutralized and if Chilton had a power that could take him out, he would have used it by now.
The situation was salvageable. He just had to think.
But thinking hurt, a vibrantly painful stab at every step as he tried to strong together a coherent chain of events. The chip was coming back alive but imperfectly, randomly. He stares down the length of his arm, at the gun pointing at Chilton's head. He closes his eyes briefly. The chip plays out a disorienting scene from an almost-but-not-quite identical perspective: Standing at the shoulder of the Lord Regent as Aral aims a nerve disrupter at the head of a fellow, green-uniformed officer. The Commander of the POW camp. Vorkosigon's voice is rough, iron. I need you to witness this, Simon. Then he pulls the trigger.
Simon opens his eyes again, focusing on Chilton as best he can while the chip tries and fails to retrieve some other relevant stream of data, driving another sharp spike of pain through Simon's head. If Chilton's looking for signs that Simon might flip out and shoot him he should be pretty alarmed by now: Simon's gone several shades paler, broken out into a cold sweat, starting breathing in shallow, labored pants. At least his aim doesn't waver, though his hand's started trembling.
It was just a damn headache. He could work through it. He wasn't even hurt that badly, otherwise. He had a vial of fasta penta in his jacket. He could hynoptize Chilton, fast penta Jorah, find the camera footage, be out in ten minutes and still be able to come back later for another round. If he ran now, he'd have to go to ground, hide, who knows for how long. If he left the stunner it could be traced back to the other Barrayarans, but it was all the way over by Jorah. No, he couldn't run, he had to fix this—
Simon makes himself focus on Chilton, meeting his gaze, trying to summon that sense of power that was his hypnosis skill. He can feel it coming to bear but when he opens his mouth to issue the order—
It feels like a thousand shards are driven into his brain at once. He blacks out, sways, hits the ground hard.]
no subject
The situation was salvageable. He just had to think.
But thinking hurt, a vibrantly painful stab at every step as he tried to strong together a coherent chain of events. The chip was coming back alive but imperfectly, randomly. He stares down the length of his arm, at the gun pointing at Chilton's head. He closes his eyes briefly. The chip plays out a disorienting scene from an almost-but-not-quite identical perspective: Standing at the shoulder of the Lord Regent as Aral aims a nerve disrupter at the head of a fellow, green-uniformed officer. The Commander of the POW camp. Vorkosigon's voice is rough, iron. I need you to witness this, Simon. Then he pulls the trigger.
Simon opens his eyes again, focusing on Chilton as best he can while the chip tries and fails to retrieve some other relevant stream of data, driving another sharp spike of pain through Simon's head. If Chilton's looking for signs that Simon might flip out and shoot him he should be pretty alarmed by now: Simon's gone several shades paler, broken out into a cold sweat, starting breathing in shallow, labored pants. At least his aim doesn't waver, though his hand's started trembling.
It was just a damn headache. He could work through it. He wasn't even hurt that badly, otherwise. He had a vial of fasta penta in his jacket. He could hynoptize Chilton, fast penta Jorah, find the camera footage, be out in ten minutes and still be able to come back later for another round. If he ran now, he'd have to go to ground, hide, who knows for how long. If he left the stunner it could be traced back to the other Barrayarans, but it was all the way over by Jorah. No, he couldn't run, he had to fix this—
Simon makes himself focus on Chilton, meeting his gaze, trying to summon that sense of power that was his hypnosis skill. He can feel it coming to bear but when he opens his mouth to issue the order—
It feels like a thousand shards are driven into his brain at once. He blacks out, sways, hits the ground hard.]